12. tallulah #2
Nick spotted the name on my phone and swore under his breath. He was right—this was so stupid and so not me. I had no idea why I was calling Fridge except that I had to find out why Nick was acting like I’d handcuffed him to the desk in a police interrogation.
Fridge’s voice came through, pleased. “Hey, Tallulah. How’s the internship?”
It was like the phone call at Moon Park. Instead of confronting him with something I wanted to know, everything inside urged me to pick a safe topic. How are your parents? How are my parents? How’s hockey?
I couldn’t. Not this time.
I sucked in a deep breath. “How long did you wait to sleep with someone after we broke up?”
Fridge paused. “What?”
“How long?” I pressed.
“Tallulah—” He stopped himself, flustered. “When we were dating, I didn’t talk to anybody. Ever. I’m loyal. That’s who I am. My grandma says I’m a house cat, not a tom cat—”
“I’m not asking about that. I want to know how long you waited.”
A heavy silence hung in the air. He wanted me to drop the issue, and that was exactly why I couldn’t.
I couldn’t let this go because of that guilty look on Nick’s face. The guilt. If Nick felt guilty, that meant he knew the answer Fridge was so cagey with.
Fridge rambled on a loop, talking about how much respect he had for me, and I muted the call, leaning into Nick’s space.
“Nick?” I touched the blankets close to him. “How long?”
His words were barely a rasp. “Day of.”
Day of the breakup?
I swallowed hard. “How do you know?”
“I cut my winter break early, I flew back to Marrs,” he admitted. “I walked in on him and the girls—”
“Girls?” I repeated.
He flinched.
“Girls, plural?!”
“I—I—”
“That’s what you’re telling me? You walked in on my ex-boyfriend having a threesome?”
“I—I—”
“Nick.”
“I yelled at him. I thought you and him—it was this whole thing.” His eyes dropped to the blankets, downcast. “Fridge said you broke up with him and—and—”
I squeezed the blanket between my fingers.
Halfway through Christmas break, I’d known in my heart the relationship was done.
I couldn’t keep it inside anymore. The two of us weren’t intimate with each other, and Fridge was distracted, like he didn’t even want to be there.
Two days before we were supposed to go back to campus, I broke up with him.
It wasn’t a long conversation. Fridge declared that he knew I needed space, and he didn’t want to be a negative energy in my home, especially since I rarely got to visit the rez. We had a family hug. My parents had asked him to stay for dinner.
Instead, Fridge drove nine hours, and immediately had a threesome.
It wasn’t the threesome itself that made my eyes prick with tears. It was the fact that before our breakup, we were having no sex. It’d become a source of embarrassment. I’d have to ask for it and pretend like his rejection didn’t hurt.
I thought I knew why we’d broken up. I’d assumed it was because I had a higher libido. That we’d grown apart from that. Obviously, that wasn’t it.
It was the quiet truth I’d been ignoring for months, the one I’d suspected whenever I hung out with his team.
I saw how his teammates interacted with their girlfriends, how they spent time together, looked at each other, said ‘I love you’ after three months, and I wondered deep down if my boyfriend liked me as much as I’d liked him.
Some days that answer was abundantly clear.
No. He didn’t.
My stomach sank, I felt so fucking low. So insignificant.
Fridge’s voice interrupted my spiraling thoughts. “Tallulah, I want you to know, there’s no restrictions.”
I unmuted the call, wiping away the start of the tears with my sleeve. “Restrictions?”
“You can have sex with every Olympian. I won’t care. I’ll never shame you for it.”
Anger flickered inside, overpowering the insignificance like a match sparking to life. It was a foreign feeling. I’d never been an angry person before.
“No restrictions?” I snapped.
Nick’s eyes widened. Fridge cleared his throat. “Uh…yes?”
“You know who I am. I—I’m too anxious to take a pizza from a delivery driver—do you really think I’d sleep with thousands of Olympians?!”
“Uh—”
“That’s not me shaming anyone! That’s not realistic, I can’t do that. You know that!”
“Did—did one of the girls text you?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Tallulah, I—I’m sorry if I hurt you in any way—”
“It doesn’t matter, we weren’t dating.” I wiped away more angry tears. “We’re not dating again.”
“That’s not what I said—”
“I know,” I interjected. “That’s what I said.”
If Fridge wanted another relationship with me after the summer—why? And how did he view himself sleeping around? Did he think he had some kind of hall pass, and oh my gosh, out of the tenderness of his heart, he would allow me to do the same?
It was such bullshit. We both knew I couldn’t.
What was I supposed to do? What did Fridge want me to do?
Sit here, hands clasped, waiting for my ex to get his fill of threesomes? Fuck that!
I ended the call.
To think, I’d been so hesitant to give another person a second glance. To put myself out there. And while I was coping with those ‘complex feelings,’ where was my ex? Fucking around. Dealing with his breakup by having fun. Throwing himself at nothing serious just because he could!
I’d taken a self-sacrificial route—heal! self-care! love yourself!— for nothing.
I felt like a fucking idiot.
Swinging over the bed, I grabbed my purse. Rat meowed, trotting after me, and Nick followed me too. “Holy shit, you’re crying—are you crying?”
“I—I need to go—”
“Wait, Tallulah.” He dodged to the door. “Where are you going?”
“I need to clear my head,” I said, my voice wobblier than I wanted it to be. “I’m sorry, I know you put this together, and thank you so much for getting Rat for me, but I—” I gestured to how messed-up I felt. “I need some time to think.”
“I’ll drive you—”
“No, I’ll take the bus.”
“Tallulah, please—”
“I’m sorry—I can’t—”
Nick finally opened the door for me and stayed close downstairs. He looked panicked. He kept reaching for me, pulling back, unsure of himself. “If you won’t let me drive you, can you text me? When you get home safe?”
With a nod, I left for the bus, taking deep, hard breaths outside.